Page 24 of Not in a Million Years

Any ideas I might have had about the desirability of marrying a rich man would have been kiboshed by the impossibility of stopping after five cherries.

‘This was just the warm-up round,’ I said. ‘You should see the buffet – it’s incredible.’

‘Right then, lead me to it.’

He followed me indoors and we both loaded plates with charcuterie, pastries, bread, cheese and more kinds of olives than I’d ever seen in my life, then returned to our table and began to eat. It was a table for two, as were almost all the others, and all the other people there seemed to be couples. Several were reaching over to hold hands. One woman held her partner’s gaze and whispered something to him, and they both giggled. Another man was literally peeling grapes and popping them into his girlfriend’s mouth with his fingers, one at a time.

I was willing to bet that none of them were looking at me and Daniel and thinking: Oooh, couple goals!

‘So,’ Daniel said, tearing off a chunk of bread and dipping it in olive oil, ‘I reckon we start by ringing round the hotels here and asking if Andy’s staying there.’

‘What, in your fluent Turkish?’

Daniel looked taken aback. ‘True. I mean, I’m sure most people speak some English, but—’

‘From “I’d like a large glass of rosé” to “We’re trying to locate our friend, who travelled here about a month ago, and might or might not be staying at your fine establishment” is quite the stretch.’

‘I guess it is,’ Daniel admitted with a grimace. ‘So I guess we’re going to have to—’

‘Go round in person?’ I suggested. I’d already reached this conclusion, but I knew Daniel was more likely to buy into it if he reached it himself, independently of me.

‘There’s still going to be a language issue, though, isn’t there?’

‘No there’s not. Look.’ I passed him my phone. On it was a photo of Andy, taken from my Facebook feed and cropped to show his face as distinctly as possible. Typed underneath were a few words in Turkish.

‘What does that say?’

‘It says, “Our friend Andy Sinclair has gone missing in the area. Have you seen him?”’

‘So you do speak the language?’

‘Of course not. But Google Translate does.’

Gratifyingly, Daniel looked quite impressed. ‘Nice work. You could go far.’

‘I already have. Almost two thousand miles, I believe.’

‘I meant…’

I took pity on him. ‘I know what you meant. Now, are we done stuffing our faces, because it’s half nine and if we’re going to track down Andy, we might as well get started.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ Daniel stood up with a mock-deferential salute.

I hope he’s not going to keep that up, I thought. It could get very old, very quickly.

‘We may as well start here,’ I said.

I led the way to the reception desk and showed the smiling woman my phone. She looked bewildered for a second, then said in perfect English, ‘No, Mr Sinclair hasn’t been a guest here. Perhaps you might like to try other hotels in Alsaya? I can provide a list.’

Behind me, I swore I could hear a faint snigger come from Daniel. I resisted the urge to step backwards, faux-accidentally, and lean my full weight on his smug toes.

The receptionist turned to her computer and seconds later handed me a sheet of A4 paper. There were around fifty names on it, together with addresses and telephone numbers.

Daunted by the scale of the task, I thanked her, and Daniel and I trooped out of the front door, where we stood in the sunshine looking down at the printout.

‘It’s a big ask,’ he said uncertainly.

I shrugged. ‘You got a better idea?’

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